I remember the dollops of smoking tobacco placed on the stumps of the trees that until this morning had surrounded the house I grew up in. The cherry, walnut, chestnut and hazelnut. My father told me it was an old native american custom. “When you cut a tree,” he said “you must help its soul find peace through the smoke.” But let’s go back to the beginning, many years before some of these trees were even planted. When I was 3 my parents decided to move from the intentional community they had been part of back to my grandmothers house in a small town close to Frankfurt. My grandmother had built the house with my grandfather. A man I had never met, he had provided hard work — first in the US army, then as an honorable laborer in post-war Germany up into the 70s. (He died from complications involving his one saved half lung and a lot of smoking). The house was spacious. Even though it only had one floor — the ground floor — it had a very large living room, an expansive kitchen, and two or three bedrooms. Depending on who lived and who worked at home at any given time. The garden was very large and equally spacious on all sides of the building. There was no cellar or second floor but it did have a shed in the back where tools were stored and chicken cooped. Apparently, at some point way back, my grandparents had a little chicken farm set up, selling eggs and meat to the neighbors. From what I gather from my parents, we had left the intentional community on relatively short notice. Of course I don’t remember any of that. I do however distinctly remember the first time I stepped out of the car and into our new street. I had never been in a town with so many lights (as it was night when we arrived) and I clearly remember the moment the door of our VW Beetle swung open, at night, after a two hour ride. I saw a wet, dark-blue street and heard the subway pass by a block or so away. A sight and sound that I would come to know and love. When we moved into the house on 23 Gablonzer street, my grandmother had been living alone for a few years. I am pretty sure that she enjoyed having us over and moving in. Often she would cook for me, I would wait with her on christmas evening (as my parents would place presents under the tree), and look after me as I was climbing the aforementioned trees. She and they never let me down. Once I grew up to go to school, I eventually was given one of the bedrooms on my own while we built a second house next door for my grandmother to live in. There was enough space for every one. Progressive as my parents were, they let me paint and draw on my walls and built me an indoor jungle gym that I would monkey around on for days and weeks. Time flew by. Crisp German winters rolled warmly into spring. Hot summers would flow into windy fall. The years went by fast and happily. Our house grew to become an oasis. My mother, made it one of her missions to create a warm, nurturing and welcoming home. Meanwhile my father, the artist, inventor and designer made sure that we were living far into the future by bringing computers, lasers and yoga into our space. I grew up. I transferred from elementary school to our towns gymnasium, made friends, lived adventures, maybe even already fell in love once or twice. By the time I was 12 it felt as if we had never occupied any other place. We had our home. Around this time — 1990 — my parents began getting excited about changes that were happening in the neighborhood. Apparently a major German retail chain had bought the plots of land close to ours to bring one of their discount markets to our town. And they were interested in buying our land as well. For a stately sum, too, which would have been impossible otherwise. After discussing the pros and cons with my grandmother and even myself, my parents decided to sell and find a new home close by in the same town. Naturally this now was exciting for me, too, because I got to come and view new places and weigh in with my opinion. We soon settled to buy a new, much larger and fancier house, a few miles south. I woke up early on my 13th birthday in our old house in my childhoods bed. We celebrated with candles in the living room and I soon left for school for most of the day. I remember being excited that day, but mostly for the birthday and less about that “other thing.” By the time I returned from school, all trees had been cut and half of my grandmothers house had already been demolished. Our house had been cleared and all that was left was a make-shift table where earlier in the morning my wrapped-up presents had been propped up. I remember the dollops of smoking tobacco placed on the stumps of the trees that until this morning had surrounded the house I grew up in. The cherry, walnut, chestnut and hazelnut. On the night of my 13th birthday I fell asleep happy, confused, excited in a new bed in a new house. ## Related - [[We moved to Oberursel in 1982]] - [[Alte Historische Fotos und Bilder Oberursel (Taunus), Hessen]] - [[Oberursel im Taunus, Germany]] - [[Urselbachstrasse 101, Oberursel]] - [[Moving to Urselbachstrasse]]